Like a scourge the knowledge of her debt to Garth drove her before it, beating her into the very depths of self-abasement, but, even so, her pride of name, and the mother-love which yearned to shield her son from all that it must involve if she should now confess the sin of her youth, urged her to let the present still keep the secrets of the past.

The habit of years, the very purpose for which she had worked, and lied, and fought, must be renounced if she were to make atonement.  A tale that was unbelievably shameful must be revealed—­and Tim would have to know all that there was to be known.

To Elisabeth, this was the most bitter thing she had to face—­the fact that Tim, for whose sake she had so strenuously guarded her secret, must learn, not only what was written on that turned-down page of life, but also what kind of woman his mother had proved herself—­how totally unlike the beautiful conception which his ardent boyish faith in her had formed.

Would he understand?  Would he ever understand—­and forgive?

CHAPTER XXXVIII

VINDICATION

Meanwhile, the Herricks and their guests—­“Audrey’s refugees,” as Molly elected to describe the latter, herself included—­had gathered round the fire in the library, and were chatting desultorily while they awaited Elisabeth’s return from her visit to Tim’s sick-room.

The casualties of the previous evening had been found to be augmented by two, since Mrs. Selwyn had remained in bed throughout the day, under the impression that she was suffering from shock, whilst Garth Trent was discovered to have dislocated his shoulder, and had been compelled to keep his room by medical orders.

In endeavouring to shield Tim, as they crashed to the ground together from the tottering staircase, Trent had fallen undermost, receiving the full brunt of the fall; and a dislocated shoulder and a severe shaking, which had left him bruised and sore from head to foot, were the consequences.

Characteristically, he had maintained complete silence about his injury, composedly accompanying Sara back to Greenacres in his car, and he had just been making his way out of the house when he had quietly fainted away on to the floor.  After which, the Herricks had taken over command.

“I think,” remarked Molly pertinently, “you might as well turn Greenacres into an annexe to the ‘Convalescent,’ Audrey.  You’ve got four cases already.”

The Lavender Lady glanced up smilingly from one of the khaki socks which, in these days, dangled perpetually from her shining needles, and into which she knitted all the love, and pity, and tender prayers of her simple old heart.

“Mr. Trent is better,” she announced with satisfaction.  “I had tea upstairs with him this afternoon.”

“Yes,” supplements Selwyn, “I fancy one of your patients has struck, Audrey.  Trent intends coming down this evening.  Judson has just come back from Far End with some fresh clothes for him.”